What Little Lottie Likes Best
by Kitty-hiime
Summary: If there was anything Erik underestimated, it was Christine's love for the boy who had saved her scarf from the sea. A story of how Raoul met his beloved little Lottie; their gestures, their devotion, and their childhood love which led to something more.
1. In the house by the sea

**Disclaimor: None of it's mine, although my fiancé really does resemble the Vicomte... coincidence? Probably. -sigh-**

**A/N: I've had this in mind for a long time, and I'm finally going to sit down and do it. Do I have a secret motivation? Of course. But you won't find out about that until the end. This story is sort of (I hope) going to act as a bridge between the book and the movie/play... taking the history which is vaguely alluded to in the book and expounding upon it, while all the while setting the stage for the events which occur in the movie. So even if you are not familiar with one or the other, you should still be able to follow with no difficulties. Please enjoy!**

* * *

**Little Lottie let her mind wander...****Little Lottie thought, 'Am I fonder of dolls or of goblins or of shoes?'**

**_Raoul..._**

**'Or of riddles or frocks?' **

**_Those picnics in the attic..._**

**'Or of chocolates?'**

**_Father playing the violin_**

**As we read to each other dark stories of the North?**

**_No- what I love best, Lottie said, is when I'm asleep in my bed, and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head..._**

Christine exited the little cottage which she shared with her father quietly, taking extra care to shut the heavy wooden door as softly as possible, so that she wouldn't wake him. It was terribly cold out today -the salty ocean breeze was making the poor little girl's teeth chatter- and she wrapped her mother's bright red scarf tighter over her honey blond curls and around her pale neck, in a vain attempt to shut out the wind. Her father would be furious with her if he knew she was going outside to look at the sea in the middle of February, but she simply couldn't take listening to the dry hacking cough which plagued him any longar. She needed respite, if only for a moment.

Wandering down to the sandy dunes, Christine sat among the weather ravaged scrub-grass, pulling at it absentmindedly. Seven months. Seven whole _long _months since they had moved to the French coast. Her father's doctors had assured him that moving to a more temperate climate would be beneficial for his health, but to the frightened child aching with loneliness on the middle of an abandoned beach, he was sounding worse and worse. Christine tried to be a good girl, she really did, and to help him with the chores, and to not cry, but it was so very hard.

The mean boy who had lived next door to them back in Sweden had told her that her mother had died this same way, all those years ago. Christine had called him a liar, and yelled at him that 'people couldn't die from a cough.' He had told her that she was stupid then, that it wasn't the cough that killed them, but the poison in the blood which followed afterwards. Christine retorted that her father wouldn't die, that he was brave and strong and could never die, but listening to his rattling breath late into the night, she was no longer so sure.

In a sudden burst of frustration and grief Christine stood and ran towards the waves, heedless of the hem of her skirt, kicking up sand as she went. Bending down and picking up shells and rocks, anything within reach, Christine hurled them vengefully at the waves, sobbing;

"Don't take my papa away from me! Give him back! Give him the strength for his music again! Don't let him leave me! I don't want...I don't want to be alone..."

Collapsing onto the sand out of reach of the waves, Christine let herself cry until it felt like she couldn't anymore. Lying on the sand hiccoughing, listening to the waves as they crashed nearby and to the wind as it whistled overhead, it was like time didn't exist in such a lonely place. Curling into a tiny shivering mass, Christine wondered vaguely what she ought to do now: She didn't want her father to worry about her (if he was even awake), but she was scared to go back and listen to that raw, painful breathing again.

Her thoughts became interrupted suddenly when Christine became aware that she could hear voices. Shaking sand out of her hair, Christine sat upright, staring like some small frightened animal at the two figures who were headed slowly towards her. They looked like two men, an old one and a young one, with the youth leading. He was looking out over the waves, and for a few minutes Christine was lost in watching him, wondering how someone so young could still carry such presence and bearing, even from so far away. It was at that moment that he turned and looked straight at her.

Terrified, Christine scrambled to her feet and tore back towards the cottage, ignoring the startled calls behind her. Slipping in the sand, she didn't stop to look back until she had climbed to the top of the dune, pausing briefly to catch her breath.

The boy was a fast runner. He had already chased her to the bottom of the dune, and was standing there looking up at her with bright blue eyes, dark and deep like the waters of her home. He was calling up at her, but the foreign words were lost in the wind, and Christine turned from him then, only feet from the safety of the little stone cottage behind her.

Above the sheltered expanse of the sand dune, the winter wind tore at her hair and clothes with icy fingers, pulling at the scarf which had been loosened by her run and casting it away. With a cry Christine snatched at it, but to no avail, the cruel wind was already carrying the woven scarlet out over the waves, where it landed floating far from shore.

All fears of the strangers instantly forgotten, Christine chased after the precious thing, calling to it to stop in rapid Swedish. Tearing past the flabbergasted boy at the bottom of the dune, she would have thrown herself straight into the sea after it had not the youth caught her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her back.

"Let me go!" she demanded, still in Swedish, wriggling as she attempted to break free. "Let me go, let me go! I have to get it, it was mama's! It was mama's favorite scarf, I have to get it back, let me go!"

"No little one, I'm sorry but I cannot let you near the water. You'll freeze, so please don't struggle so." The boy responded gently in French. "Do not fret pretty girl, it will be alright. Bernard," he said, addressing the older man who was accompanying him, "return to the house please, and fetch something suitably warm for the mademoiselle to wear."

"With all due respect sir, I was given instructions by Lord Philippe to escort you along your walk."

"I am sure that my brother would agree with me that it is not proper for a gentleman to leave a child out in the cold, especially one so delicate as this. I am quite capable of attending to myself for a few minutes- the house is not so very far."

The man gave a stiff bow, his disapproval of the disheveled waif evident in his eyes. "Of course, young master." He replied, retreating back the way they had come.

Christine watched the scarf as it bobbed in the waves, seemingly farther from her every second. Tears filled her eyes again as she gazed at it. "But...it was mother's." she said in her halting French. She felt the boy stiffen briefly, and then he was stroking her hair and whispering to her kind words, holding her simply. She turned around and cried into his chest, letting him do what he could to comfort her. When her sobs had subsided somewhat, he pulled away from her and shrugged off his warm coat, draping it around her tiny shoulders. She looked up at him quizzically, and he smiled at her, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

"You are too pretty to cry so, little one. Wait for me here, I won't be long. Be a good girl and keep that coat dry for me, won't you? I'm going to need it soon." So saying, he kicked off his shoes, and Christine watched in astonishment as he waded waist deep into the frigid water, before diving in head first and swimming with powerful strokes towards her scarf, hardly even visible now after all this time.

"Be careful! Oh please be careful!" she called after him, first in Swedish until she remembered that he couldn't understand her. With mingled emotions of hope and fear over his safety, Christine continued to shout as many encouraging things as she could in her new language, literally clapping with joy when she saw that he had reached her scarf, and was now turning back with the cloth in tow.

While it was apparent that he was a strong lad, it was just as obvious that the long swim was wearing him out, and when he finally reached shore several minutes later, the boy collapsed on the sand, coughing and shivering violently. Immediately Christine threw his coat over him, and covered his face with a child's kisses of gratitude and happiness, as he grinned up at her.

"Here you are, my little water sprite. Your precious scarf, and may your mother bless it. Take good care of it, and don't lose it again! It might not be so easy to get back next time."

She took it from him and hugged him, promising him that she would never lose it again, and thanking him over and over for being so kind and so brave for her.

"Raoul de Chagny! Are you mad?! Throwing yourself into the waves like that- what would your father say if you had turned up drowned? This is exactly why your brother asked me to escort you, always pulling foolish stunts! You'll pay for your over-eagerness one day, I assure you."

The boy sat up somewhat shakily, still coughing up sea water. "And that sort of attitude, Bernard, is exactly why I needed to send you away for awhile...otherwise this lovely creature might still be crying. Now don't be a complete miser, hand her the shawl."

With utter contempt, Bernard held out the covering towards Christine and let her take it before helping his young master to stand. Raoul's lips were turning blue and he sneezed several times, which somehow earned Christine a reproachful glare from his manservant. "I'm sorry." she said carefully, paying special attention to her pronunciation and form, so that she could be understood. "I'm so sorry...I've made you sick now. Please don't be sick, please get better now."

Raoul kneeled down by her and smiled, taking the shawl which she had clutched in her fists and covering her with it. "Don't be worried about me, I never stay ill long. Now, you should go back to your home and rinse the saltwater out of that scarf, it can't be good for it. No tears now, alright? Will you smile for me? That's my girl." He kissed her on the forehead and stood, coughing violently for a few moments as Bernard led him away. Christine watched them go, holding on tightly to the soaking scarf and smiling as much as she could manage, all the while praying that the boy would be alright. She wouldn't be able to forgive herself if something terrible happened to him because of his kindness.

He turned around once and waved at her, and she waved back, jumping up and down as she did so, hoping that he could see. Once they had moved out of sight away from the beach, she ran back the whole way towards home, taking especial care to not let the scarf, or the borrowed shawl, be stolen by the wind. Pulling open the cottage door after beating the sand off of her shoes, Christine went inside, to find her father sitting in a chair by the fire, reading. He looked up as she came in, and though his face was tired and grey, his brown eyes were dancing.

"There you are my darling, I was so worried about you! It is not so cold here as it is up north, to be sure, but the weather is still not so good for one so young. If you want to go out, please let me know, and we shall find someone to go with you. Ah, but you are free spirited like your mother, so perhaps it cannot be helped. Did you enjoy your time out of the cottage?" His brows furrowed in confusion as he noticed the shawl draped around his daughter's shoulders. "Christine, what is that you've brought home? It can't be one of ours."

For the first time, Christine took it off and looked at it. While the Daae family was by no means poor, the finely woven wool of blue with its embroidered pattern of violet roses, occasionally set by crystal beads, was far more fine a thing than they would have purchased, not being at all practical for a widower and a young girl. Smiling happily, she responded with a child's innocence;

"My new friend gave it to me."

* * *

**A/N: If anyone is wondering about the hair colour, it took me awhile to decide that one. In the book, she's blond; in the play, burnette. So I used personal experience in this case- I was born a blond, and the older I get the darker my hair turns. I think that's fairly common. So it's going to happen to Christine too. Still not sure what to do about the brown/blue eyes though. Any suggestions? On that note, any critiques? Comments? Bad jokes? Review and I'll be a happy little thing!**


	2. Chocolates

**Disclaimer: -secretly checks Ebay- Darn! Still not on sale. Oh well...one day it will be mine...**

**A/N: Curse paper weeks!! Curse you to sugar-coated armadillo land!! 'Cause, really, if I was an armadillo, and I was coated in sugar and all sticky and gross, I'd be ticked off and ready to take it out on something else too. Anyways, thank you all so much for your kind patience! Longer waits mean longer updates, right? I hope that you enjoy this chapter. It's kind of a quiet one, as in a sit-at-home-and-chat-and-laugh way, as opposed to a go-out-and-run-around-town-and-get-into-mischief way; that will come later. I hope you all don't mind...I'm just a sucker for character development. If any of you have any opinions, please let me know. :)**

* * *

Standing on the front steps of the De Chagney seaside home (if one could honestly call such a grandiose structure simply a 'home'), Christine started to shiver, and this time it had nothing to do with the cold. Four days had passed since the incident by the sea, and yet Christine had not seen the boy who had returned her scarf to her again. Finally, she had devised an excuse: the shawl must be returned. Her father had agreed, of course, and sent inquiries to all his local correspondents to learn of the family's whereabouts. Imagine his surprise when it came back to him that his only child was hobnobbing with aristocracy! Still, though he was fairly certain that she would be turned away at the door, M. Daae arranged for Christine to meet at one o'clock with Stephan, the local fishmonger, who would escort the child to and from the De Chagney estate.

As her father had instructed, Christine changed into her best frock, a pale yellow dress with lace on the sleeves and collar, tied her matching bonnet in a neat little bow under her chin, and practiced her curtsies. Then she took her cloak, the directions one of her father's friends had sent, and the folded shawl, kissed her father goodbye, and went to meet Stephan.

Only she didn't really go to meet him. He was dirty and mean and smelled like fish, and she didn't like him anyway. Besides, she was a big girl, and she could find the house by herself! Which was why she was now standing, alone, in front of something resembling more a sea-side resort than a single family home. As intimidating as that was, to make matters worse the door's knocker was directly over her head, just out of reach.

Casting her eyes about her to make sure that there was no one to see, Christine gathered her skirts and jumped, stretching her arm as far as it would go, but to no avail. Her fingertips barely grazed the highly polished bronze. Sighing in frustration, she tried again, swiping at it like a determined kitten after a sparrow. No such luck. Finally, just as she was contemplating taking a running start, the door opened to reveal a very tight-lipped Bernard, carrying a large broom in his hands with which to sweep the already dirt-free porch.

For a moment the two of them just stared at each other, as Christine's startled mind struggled to find something appropriate to say, and Bernard simply allowed his annoyance to be plainly visible on his thin and pointed face.

It was Bernard who spoke first, in clipped and harsh tones. "I see that the young sea urchin has returned to us. Here to disrupt us once again with your selfish demands?"

Happily for Christine, she only understood half of what the man had said anyway. Suddenly remembering what she had come for (or part of it anyway), she held the shawl out like a peace offering and lowered herself into a curtsy at the same time, fighting to maintain her balance. "Please- please take with thank you from my father." she mumbled, desperately wishing that anyone besides the scary manservant had opened the door. Bernard sneered at her, taking the shawl with one hand. "I suppose that it must be cleaned now. I will take this in for you, you may go...or do you expect a coin for your trouble?"

Gathering all the courage which she possessed, Christine rose and looked him straight in the eye, speaking in a high, clear voice;

"May I see the master Raoul?"

Bernard blinked at her, taken aback. "Good God no, the last thing the young master needs when he is ill in bed is for you to further grieve him. No, what you are going to do is turn around right now and-"

"And come straight in my child, straight in! That _is_ what you were about to say, wasn't it my dear?"

Balking, Bernard was barely able to avoid the front door as it was thrown open with a heavy crash. Just as suddenly a short, stout woman with flyaway red hair charged through it, pushing him out of the way like he was nothing more than some dark and foreboding misplaced potted plant. Taking Christine firmly by the hand, the woman yanked her inside, slamming the door shut on Bernard's upturned nose.

"Why, you're such a sweet little dear! Now I know that the young master's not delirious, talking about some water sprite when he slept...you should have seen the tongue lashing the poor boy received from his father -nasty business, that was- for coming back sopping wet. Not at all the proper sort of behavior for a young lord, he said, and wouldn't you know it, the boy goes on and spins up an elaborate tale about weeping selkies, or some such nonsense, and he's been ordered a-bed until he starts talking normal again. But where are my manners? I'm Clara dear, and you are...?"

"Christine Daae, Madame." she answered, glad to have caught that last line, and hoping that none of the rest of it mattered too much.

"My, and what a darling name you have too! I always wanted to name a daughter Charlotte, but I'm far too old for that now, so I guess you'll have to do! Come along now Charlotte, not much farther now, that's a good girl."

Christine stared in awe at the walls around her, gilded as they were by shining wall scones and crystal bright mirrors. Occasionally they would pass some rich tapestry of finely woven thread depicting an epic battle or a majestic hunt, and a peek behind the forest green velvet curtains revealed a breathtaking view of waves pounding on the rocks far below. Christine longed to unlace her boots and race down the thick carpeted halls in stockinged feet, but she urged herself to remember what her father had told her about being polite and resisted.

After climbing several sets of stairs and traveling quickly down many corridors, each as ornate as the last, Clara paused in her cheery prattling long enough to rap smartly on a single unmarked door, announcing their presence; and without waiting for a response entered the room, pulling Christine in after her.

"Look what the tide has brought you master Raoul; Charlotte Day is here to lighten your spirits!"

"Umm...Christine Madame, Christine Daae."

"Charlotte, why don't you pull that chair up to the young master's bed and keep him company awhile? I'll bring up some tea and cakes to you in a bit, dears. Enjoy yourselves!" And with that the whirl-wind matron departed, humming jovially to herself.

Raoul looked up from the book he was reading and smiled at her. "I was hoping that I would get to see you again, but I hadn't realized that you would appear to me as an angel."

Christine blinked at him, confused. "But I'm not an angel, I'm just a girl." she said matter-of-factly.

He laughed. "No, no you must be an angel. Look, you even have a golden halo." And so saying he pointed at her yellow bonnet. Christine's cheeks turned pink and her little hands fumbled to untie the bow holding her bonnet in place. She took it off and set it on the mahogany table by Raoul's bed, before moving the cushioned armchair as best she could into a more favorable position.

"What about you?" she asked.

"What about me?"

Christine glanced around the room, taking in the oaken paneling and the velvet drapes, the bed so high she would need stairs to climb up on it, with its embroidered pillowcases and silken sheets, the curtains around the bed tied back by golden cords, and Raoul resting comfortably in the middle of it all, wearing a pressed white night-shirt with his hair tied back in a fashionable que, a simple silver cross around his neck and a golden ring glinting on the hand which held the book. He was sitting up straight, smiling gently at her, and though his skin was pale from his illness his eyes were bright and warm. Christine leaned forward excitedly in her seat, her legs kicking back and forth as she whispered,

"Are you a prince?"

Raoul stared at her a moment, surprised, and then started to laugh again, as Christine watched him expectantly. "What makes you ask that?"

"Because you look just like the princes in the storybooks Papa reads me."

"Oh, is that why? No, I am just a boy, as you are just a girl." Seeing the disappointed look on Christine's face, he quickly added, "Do you like stories?"

"Oh yes! Very much. Father used to read me stories every night, before he became sick..." She hung back, suddenly wondering when it might be that she would be able to hear her father read to her again.

Raoul reached out and took the little girl's hand as he saw tears forming in the corners of her eyes, and gave it a squeeze. "I'm sorry, I hope that he is well soon. Christine, don't be sad, how about this? Don't look so surprised, I know that Clara can hardly keep her own name straight, she called me Rudolph 'till I was six! Would you like it if I read to you every now and then? Of course, I know that I am no substitute for your father, but perhaps, sometimes...?" He trailed off, watching her hopefully.

The smile which broke out on the child's face could have melted stone. "Will you read me that?" she asked, pointing at the book in Raoul's lap.

"What, this? _Le Mort D'Arthur_. It's very good, but I think that maybe it ought to wait until you're a little older. How about something more cheerful instead?"

"But I am old enough!" cried Christine, sitting up straight and trying to look mature. "I'll be seven soon, that's almost full grown."

"It certainly seems like it, doesn't it? But even I'm not quite old enough to be called a man, even though I'd like to think it."

"How old are you?" asked Christine, curious.

"Fourteen."

Christine's large doe-colored eyes grew even wider in shock. "But...but that's so _old_." Raoul frowned at her. "I'm not so much older. Think about it; when I'm 50, you'll be 43. Is that so different?" Kicking her legs back and forth again, Christine thought about it. "No, I suppose not." she concluded after awhile.

Reaching out and giving one of Christine's curls a playful tug, he asked a question that he had been wondering about for awhile now. "Where are you from?" She giggled and slapped his hand away before realizing what he had said. "Stockholm." she answered proudly.

"Stockholm...I've heard of that in my lessons. It's in Sweden, isn't it? No wonder I couldn't understand a word you were saying earlier. How long have you lived in France?" Christine sighed and tucked her feet up under her on the chair. "Forever! Seven whole days!" Raoul stared at her, confused. "Seven days? It can't have been just seven days, that's not a long time at all!"

"Yes it is! Seven days, since July!" Comprehension dawned on Raoul's face. "That's seven _months_ dear one, not days. I don't know what you call them in Swedish, but here those are months."

"Oh, seven months then." she agreed, saying the word several times as she tried to memorize it. Raoul leaned forward. "You know, really your French is very good for only seven months. It's very impressive." Christine smiled, pleased with the compliment. "Papa says I've got a good ear for sound. It's hard when people talk fast though."

Raoul nodded in sympathy. "Well, I shall always make sure to not talk too fast for you then, alright?" As he finished speaking, his shoulders started to shake and Christine watched in horror as Raoul succumbed to a violent fit of coughing. Painfully reminded of why he was lying in a sick bed in the first place, Christine flew to the edge of his bed and grasped one of his warm hands with both of her small ones, silently pleading for the coughing to stop...it reminded her too much of her father. It finally subsided, but Christine continued to watch with worried eyes, hearing her father's suffering in her mind and desperately praying to God that this boy who she barely knew wasn't going to leave her as well.

Looking up to see the fear in her eyes, Raoul almost panicked until he thought that he understood; it wasn't just her father that she was worried after. With his free hand he reached out to cup the side of her face. "Poor sweet child," he said gently, "when you love, you love with all your heart, don't you? May the world never take that away from you. But, cheer up little one! I'm really not so sick, except for this blasted cough. I'm just pretending to be, because I don't want to go out with my parents tonight, you see? I could get up and go out if I wanted to."

Comforted for the moment, and yet perplexed, Christine let go of his hand and scurried up onto the foot of the bed, abandoning her less-than-comfortable chair. She looked like a little fairy-tale princess, sitting so delicately amid such splendor, and Raoul was struck with affection for the lonely child, who trusted him so completely. He wanted to protect her from anything that would do ever do her harm, and if -heaven forbid- she should be left alone in the world, Raoul hoped that he would be there with her, so that she would not be completely friendless in this new country.

"Why don't you want to go with them?" Christine asked, waking him from his reverie. "Why? Oh, because they are going to go see a ballet tonight, and I don't want to go. I can't stand any of those things; ballet, opera, concerts. They're dreadful, so long and dull. I ought to thank you, really. I'm much happier staying inside and reading, and having your company, then I would be if I had to accompany them to a show. Ugh." He flopped back onto the pillows again, as Christine processed everything he had just said. Suddenly she sat up, eyes shining, and clapped her hands together, which caused Raoul to jump.

"I want to see a show!"

He gaped at her, then realized what he was doing and quickly closed his mouth. "Are you serious? But, why? I mean, forgive me, but you would probably find much of it difficult to understand..._I _find much of it difficult to understand, and I've been going since I was smaller than you."

"Why? It's music, isn't it? Why would I need to know the language to understand the music? Papa has taught me to listen, to know when the music is happy, or sad, or angry at everything...he says that we can always hear it, if we know how to listen to the angels singing. I want to always hear music." Raoul watched her speak, visibly moved by the passion which Christine spoke with and by the joy which emanated from her face. "Your father is a musician?" he asked, intrigued.

"Yes! He is the best fiol player in all the world! No one else can make such beautiful music!"

"Fiol? What is a fiol?"

"Fiol! You do not know fiol? See, it is like this-" Raising herself up to her knees, Christine tucked in her chin and raised one arm up in front of her. Bending her other arm and making a fist, she drew it back and forth over the first arm, her eyes closed and smiling, just as she had watched her father so many times before.

It didn't take Raoul long to see what she was saying. "Oh of course! You mean a violin. Do you play as well?" Christine sat back down again, a little sadly. "No. My fingers are too- what is your word for it? Clumsy on the strings. But I like to sing with him, when he is playing. Do you know," she asked excitedly, "that he has played all over Europe? He played for our King in Sweden. And he played here in France too, in Paris! He accompanied 'La Carlotta' on stage herself!" She collapsed onto the bed with a sigh, staring dreamily up at the ceiling. "I wish I could hear her sing, just once."

"Then I shall take you."

Christine scrambled up again, her carefully brushed hair frizzing with excitement. "You would do that? But you don't like to go to shows!" Raoul shrugged. "It would be worth it, if it would make you so happy. Besides, I'm sure that I would enjoy it much more with you. Is that alright then? I can't promise you when, but one day we shall see La Carlotta sing together."

The poor boy narrowly avoided banging his head against the backboard of his bed as Christine threw her arms around his neck, hugging him. He coughed a couple of times, half in embarrassment, and half because he was still, after all, slightly ill. "Come now ma petite, it's alright, you don't have to...I mean, there's no need to..."

This awkward speech was interrupted as Clara entered the room again, this time forgetting to knock entirely. "Tea time my dears. We've got scones and marmalade, and chicken sandwiches for growing children, and something very special for later. Oh! Why young master Raoul, I think she likes you."

Scowling at the housekeeper, Raoul untangled himself from the little Swede, who became quite horrified with herself as soon as she realized how rude she was being. Retreating back to her chair, Christine sat still with perfect posture, her ankles tucked neatly under her, and she accepted the tea Clara handed her meekly. Raoul watched her with concern etched on his face until Clara had left the room, twittering about something or other, at which point he asked her why she had fallen so silent. She stared at her tea a moment before answering.

"I'm sorry, I should not be so... en-thus-ias-tic." she said, tripping over the long word. " 'A good girl is polite and uses her manners at all times.' " She finished, most probably quoting a lecture her father had given her just before she left the house.

"Oh Christine, you don't have to worry about such things around me, I won't be upset with you. You bring so much light into this place, where everyone else is always too busy to enjoy what they have -except for Clara I suppose, but who knows what that woman is ever thinking of- so please, never be so sad and serious on my account. A girl as gentle as you should always be smiling. Now please, I can hardly see you sitting all the way over there. Come back and sit where you were, and bring the tray with you, if you wouldn't mind."

Comforted once more and eager to please, Christine went to pick up the silver tray, and heavily laden as it was she shook a little under its weight. Seeing this, Raoul pushed back the blankets and took it from her, waiting until Christine had climbed from her chair and back onto the bed before he set it carefully on the sheets, helping himself to a scone. "Please, have some Christine." He said, trying to keep his crumbs off the bed. "Cook is really very good. Here, try this-" and he handed her a chicken sandwich, which she nibbled on delicately, smiling her approval. They ate for a bit quietly, only occasionally commenting on some quality of the meal, or requesting for an item to be passed to them. After some time had passed Raoul took hold of the lid which covered the alleged box of sweets Clara had spoken of, revealing a collection of round, richly dark chocolates.

"Excellent! Swiss chocolates! I won't even ask where Clara collected these from, I have a feeling that I don't want to know. Have you ever had chocolate Christine?"

"Of course! Sometimes Papa would give me chocolate to drink, when it was cold outside."

"Ah. Well, this is a little like that, only very different." He said, smiling. "The Swiss, as far as I can tell, are known for two things: their chocolate and their clocks. Oh, and their soldiers, I suppose, although I'm not sure if it's because they are very good or because they dress funny. But really, you must try one; try one and tell me if it is not the most delicious thing in the whole world!" He took the largest of the chocolates in the box and held it up to her, and Christine tentatively leaned forward and took a very small bite. Raoul was right! Christine couldn't remember anything as sweet and warm as this, yet bitter too; almost as though someone had melted down the excitement of Christmas eve itself. One where she was wrapped in a favorite blanket by a crackling fire, until the baker added sugar, and packaged it with a bow. She wanted more, but dared not appear to be rude again, so instead she sat back and savored the taste, holding it in her mouth. A moment later Raoul had pressed the remainder of the chocolate in her hand, laughing.

"Eat Christine, it's alright. They were brought as much for you as they were for me. Just mind that you don't get any on your dress, it wouldn't do to have your Papa mad at me."

She nodded vigorously. "Thank you Raoul, sir!" At this Raoul looked slightly embarrassed again, and corrected her. "Christine, there is no need for titles between friends. Please, call me simply Raoul, and I am at your service."

"Raoul," she repeated, smiling at him, "then you may call me Lottie!"

"Lottie? Why Lottie? That doesn't sound anything like Christine. Is this another Swedish thing?"

She giggled. "No, it's what Papa calls me. It's from the story, about a little girl named Lottie, and one day while she's sleeping in her cradle, the Angel of Music comes to her, and she grows up to play every instrument, and she can sing every song, and all the town loves her, because of the gift of the Angel."

Raoul nodded, smiling. "Alright then, little Lottie. My little Lottie."

"Oh, but I'm Papa's little Lottie. I don't know how to be both."

"Well, perhaps I could borrow you sometimes."

Christine was about to respond when a stiff, abrasive knock on the door startled her. Raoul turned his head to stare at the door, frowning. "Whoever it is hasn't barged straight in yet, so I can only guess...You may enter!"

The door opened slowly and Bernard stepped in, keeping one hand on the doorknob as though ready to close it and leave immediately. He looked down his nose at Christine and sighed, taking in the rumpled sheets and the crumbs which had, inevitably, made their way onto the bed. Finally he turned his attention back to the young man who was sitting next to her.

"Master, your honorable brother has asked me to inform you that he and the Lord and Lady shall be leaving for the ballet anon. As I am quite sure that you still intend to not go, it is really only proper for the...child to be taken out of the house, and sent back to wherever she came from."

Coming to a sudden realization, Raoul snapped his head around to peer at the curtains which hid his window: the thin space between them which revealed the outside world was getting quite dark. "Surely you don't mean for her to return unescorted? It's getting late now, who knows what might happen out there!"

Bernard sighed. "Really Master, you over-exaggerate, as usual. The child arrived here by her own accord, did she not? I am quite certain that she is capable of making her way back in the same manner. Come along now girl, I'm going to have enough of a mess to clean up after you have left as is." Frightened by Bernard's stern countenance, Christine slid off of the bed, and quickly gathered her bonnet and cloak. She cast one last forlorn look at Raoul, who gazed worriedly after her, before the door was shut roughly behind them. Apparently too furious to speak for once, Bernard set a fast pace throughout the house, and Christine nearly had to run to keep up, scared of being left behind and becoming lost in the turning and twisting corridors.

When they reached the entryway, Bernard stopped and pulled the door open for her, pausing for a moment to speak: "Now then Miss Day, or whoever you are, the shawl is returned, and I shall give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you came here to apologize to Sir Raoul for all of the trouble you have put him through these last few days. Your social duty has been done, and we really have no more need to see you. Goodnight."

Confused and startled by her sudden expulsion, Christine flew out the door and down the stairs, intent on getting home before the sun had fully set, and back to the safety of the parlor fire and her Papa. It was already very cold again, but Christine was running as fast as she could and didn't feel it much, until a voice behind her made her stop.

"Christine, wait! Lottie! Hold for a moment!" Trembling, her hands wrapped around her small frame, Christine stopped until Raoul caught up with her a moment later, panting from running so fast. "I thought- that I wasn't- going to reach you in time." He gasped, holding onto his side with one hand. He was wearing shoes, but hadn't taken the time to change out of his nightshirt, wearing instead a long coat buttoned over it. Christine took his hand and looked up at him.

"Why did you come out? Bernard is going to get very angry! He's mean, isn't he?"

"I had to come out. I couldn't just let you walk all the way home in the dark by yourself." he told her, between gulps of air. "And anyways, hopefully Bernard won't find out. I climbed out through the window...Oh please don't look at me like that, it's alright, there's a balcony and a trellis right nearby, it's safe enough. Anyways, if I'm lucky, he won't even notice that I'm gone. Besides, I wanted to give you these." Raoul handed her a small bundle, tied up in a handkerchief. When she looked up at him inquiringly, Raoul smiled. "The chocolates. You liked them so much, I wanted you to have them. Share them with your father." Cold weather and cold words alike were forgotten as Christine gleefully clutched her prize to her chest. Looking out over at the horizon towards the nearly vanished sun, Raoul reached down and took her hand. "I'd offer you my arm," he teased, "but you're still a little too small to reach, I think, so for now this will have to do. Come little Lottie, we don't want to keep you father waiting for you, he's probably worried already."

Praying that she hadn't upset her Papa too much, Christine ran back towards her cottage with Raoul, holding on tight to the chocolates and looking forward to getting to see her Papa's face when he tried one. What Christine hadn't expected was for the cottage door to be thrown open before they had even reached it, and for her father to rush out towards her, grabbing her and holding onto her tight, while scolding her in Swedish. "Christine, Christine, you had me so worried! What were you thinking, staying out until the sun had set? And then Stephan comes to tell me that you never went to meet him...what is a father supposed to think!"

Straightening up, he noticed Raoul for the first time. With the righteous anger of a parent, he spoke to him in perfect French. "You, boy! You may go back and tell your master that it does not do to keep a sick man waiting like this! I do not care if he is of the noblest blood in France, he has no manners!"

"There is no need," said Raoul calmly "for me to chasten the young master, for you have just rightly done so yourself. A thousand apologies, M. Daae, for I can offer no excuse for your daughter's lateness except for the fact that I so enjoyed her company that I truly did not notice the time. I implore you to believe me when I say that had I realized, I never would have allowed her to be gone for so long a while."

M. Daae sized the boy up, not at all aghast that he had just reprimanded the vicomte himself, and for that reason Raoul had to admire him; too many people bent over backwards when they heard his name. "Well," the violinist continued, "you brought her back yourself, and I suppose that must say something for your character. But what would you have done if something had happened and Christine had gotten hurt, hmm?"

Raoul's handsome face became serious and his eyes turned dark. "I may be young monsieur, it is true," he said, standing up straight. "and I am not yet a man, but this I swear to you, on my honor: That as long as I am with her, I shall guard Christine from any harm, from any danger, and that I shall protect her with my life if necessary. She is a dear child, and I shall not let any evil touch her, so help me God."

Something passed between the two men at that moment, which Christine could not understand. But very soon afterward her father relaxed and nodded. "So be it. Christine, my dearest, say goodnight. It is time for us to go to bed." Christine quickly complied, turning around to face Raoul and giving him her neatest curtsey. What she wanted to do was to wrap her arms around his neck and cry and tell him that she was sorry that he had gotten yelled at because of her, but she didn't think that he would like to see that right now, so for the moment she would be strong. "Bon nuit, monsieur, thank you for the meal." Raoul smiled at her, a little sadly, but bowed back. "Bon nuit, Christine. God bless, and may your angel sing you to sleep." M. Daae and Raoul nodded to each other once more, and then Raoul turned to make his way back to his family's house. He had only made it a couple of steps before Christine gave up, crying after him, "Raoul! Thank you for the chocolates!"

Raoul stopped and cupped his hands around his mouth, to call back to her, "Enjoy them little Lottie! And please, smile for me!"

With that, he turned and was gone. But Christine smiled...she didn't feel the need to cry anymore.

* * *

**A/N: Holy cow! Long update! LOL, or at least it feels like it to me. I guess when I read it it's really not too long. I hope that you all enjoyed it! Hint: I think the next update will have to do with those funny leather things we wear on our feet...**

**Comments? Questions? Winning lottery numbers? Click below...**


	3. Shoes

**Disclaimer: -Runs out and checks the mailbox- Nope...still no rights...-sigh- maybe tomorrow... -goes by the window to wait-**

**A/N: Yay, chapter three!! To all of you who have been patient with me and reading this story since the start, thank you so much! I'm sorry for the wait! But I hope that you'll agree that it was worth it. The funny thing about this story is, even though it's just my own take on everything, writing it makes me a lot more tender towards Raoul as a romantic character. Don't get me wrong, I've been a Raoul/Christine fan from the start, but if I watch the movie now with these chapters in my mind it makes his character's actions much more...poignant and sincere. Does anyone else feel that way? If so please tell me, I'm curious and I want to know! (Not to mention I would be really truly honored.) And now, onwards!**

* * *

It was an elegant carriage- the finest money could buy, and utterly in season. From the highly polished, solid oak doors with green velvet lining, to the tasseled pillows placed meticulously about the cabin, and ending with the silver bells tinkling upon the thoroughbreds' harnesses, it was the embodiment of fashion and good taste. For its unwilling occupant however, it was a glamorous and sadly portable torture device, completely unnecessary in such a small town as this; especially so when the sand and sea-grass appeared so inviting to impatient eyes.

Raoul de Chagny sighed and fought to maintain his good posture. If his brother could manage the jarring ride while sporting a top hat and frock coat, he could certainly handle it with his lighter duster and cap! Still, after a month of frigid winds and the occasional downpour, the blessed relief of the sun was wearing thin its welcome by shining directly in the young viscount's eyes. Not for the first time he envied the ladies their shade bestowing parasols, and wished there was a more masculine equivalent. Instead, he pulled his cap lower over his eyes and resisted the urge to squint.

For the most part, their return journey to the de Chagny seaside house was passing by in silence. Philippe had needed to settle some accounts with the (only) bank in town, and asked Raoul to accompany him; mostly for 'educational' purposes, Raoul was sure. Considering that the fully grown and already much experienced Philippe was the primary heir to the estate, Raoul found his instructions on proper management to be tedious and unnecessary. After all, as the second son there would never be any need for him to actually _apply _any of the things he was learning; full responsibility for the continuation of the estate, and the family line, fell upon his brother.

More realistically, once Raoul had reached manhood his family would bequeath him with a decent sum which he would invest, and work to establish his own fortune. Either that or he would join the army. While Raoul had always been one to fight for what he cared about, he doubted that he could manage a permanent military career- he hated taking orders.

His brother clearing his throat broke Raoul out of his reverie. Guiltily he turned to look back at Philippe, wondering if perhaps he had been trying to attract Raoul's attention for some time now. However, Philippe's affectionate smile and sparkling eyes made a greater case for amusement rather than frustration.

"You've fallen rather silent Raoul. Is such a simple view really so very breathtaking?"

Raoul shook his head. "Forgive me if you find me inattentive brother, but I truly have nothing of interest to speak of."

"Oh really? Then perhaps you wouldn't mind me asking you something about which I'm interested in?"

Raising an eyebrow, Raoul nodded slowly. "I suppose I can be led to indulge your curiosity." He said, secretly wondering what on earth Philippe was referring to.

Philippe smiled and leaned back slightly into his seat before continuing. "Clara tells me that you have adopted a poor orphan girl as your playmate. Is this true?"

Raoul coloured under Philippe's scrutinizing gaze. _'Blast Clara's infernal meddling! She needs to adopt a new hobby...hmph, snake oil peddling would keep her mouth busy at least. If only Bernard were a bit less of a stick-in-the-mud, she wouldn't feel the need to occupy herself with __our __lives!_' "It's not true." He said finally; watching the slightly surprised look on his brother's face as he added, "She's not an orphan."

"Oh? But the child does exist then?"

"As much as you or I. I'll have you know that she is not some sort of street urchin either; she and her father live comfortably enough, in a cottage not too far from our house, actually."

"A cottage? How...quaint. I notice that you jumped straight to her defense."

"For such a gentle creature it is fitting that no ill be spoken of her."

"So she is not an orphan, and not destitute, but I am correct when I surmise that she is a child then?" Frowning, Raoul wondered exactly where Philippe was heading with his questions. "Yes, of course she is."

His brother sighed with what sounded suspiciously like relief. "I dare say that I needn't remind you Raoul, that in a few years you will be coming of age in our family. It would hardly be appropriate for the youngest son of the count to be associating with women of a lower social degree. However, as it appears to be a mere case of genteel charity, I am disinclined to think that father would have any serious objections to you continuing your acquaintance for the duration of our stay."

Thunderstruck, Raoul stared at the impeccably well-bred man before him, feeling the first tell-tale flutters of fury. "A charity case? If you believe that I 'associate' with the Daae girl out of a mere expression of pity, then you are very much mistaken. We are simply two young, lonely beings who, regardless of age or social status, are able to take comfort and delight in each other's company! Under the given circumstances of being so very far away from Paris and society, I do not believe that anyone would be justified in taking offense at that."

"You dismiss society too easily little brother, for one of your status. Even the walls have ears. If you were just a few years older, this whole business would cause quite a scandal."

"Let it then!" Raoul exclaimed, startling the driver and jolting the carriage. "Regardless of what they may say, my conscious is clean. You would do well to take your own advice brother, before you are so eager to give it out." Rashly he continued, not heeding the warning glare of Philippe's narrowed eyes. "It is no secret which part of town you like to visit, or what sort of company you keep while there. While that sort of behavior may be tolerated, such a loose concern for your financial affairs is not. If you think that your...your frivolity draws less condemnation than my unbiased desire for friendship, you are grievously amiss."

It was like a dark cloud had settled directly over the carriage, blocking out the otherwise sunny day.

"I may be amiss," ground out Philippe between gritted teeth, "but you're a fool if you honestly believe that a boy your age can keep company with a child of a lower class without those who know you rightfully being suspect of your motivations!"

"Christine!"

"I don't care what her name is- she's just a sordid little chit as far as anyone proper is concerned, and you would do well to give greater thought to what consequences your actions will bring!"

"Not her name, you wretched amant de putes, I saw Christine, we just passed her! Driver, stop the carriage, I'm getting out."

Now it was Philippe who was livid. "You actually have the audacity to leave this carriage and chase after that girl with all that has just been said?" Raoul leapt nimbly from the carriage before it had completely come to a stop, and turned to face his brother.

"Christine happens to be infinitely better company at the moment. We are not fools Philippe: We both know perfectly well that as the second son, I am in line to inherit nothing. Unless you come across an untimely end -which given your excellent health is highly unlikely- I will either be forced to make my own way in the world or rely upon your charity...which is a prospect I don't very much relish at the moment. With that in mind, I freely choose to be friends with the little Daae girl. She, at least, is not swayed from her sweetness of temperament or angelic innocence by the misfortunes which have befallen her. God help me, I have sworn to care for her while her father is unable to, and I am a man of my word! I pray that I shall be a more loyal friend and brother to her than you have been to me!"

With that, Raoul slammed the carriage door shut and proceeded to chase after the diminishing figure of Christine, who had by now reached the crossroads before town. Philippe stared after him, rage and pain equally etched upon his handsome face, before it was swept away by a practiced air of noble indifference. Tapping his cane smartly upon the carriage's floor to signal the driver, he continued on to the seaside retreat alone.

* * *

Christine wasn't sure if she could remember a time when her spirits were higher. For one thing, there was sun! She relished the beautiful light: She absorbed the warmth on her skin and her hair, the way the long grasses shimmered in the light, the vibrant colours of the first few wildflowers that had opened...she loved what the sun could do to such a dark world. But more than all of that, what made her heart especially glad was that with the brightening of the weather, her father's health was improving too. He was coughing less, and on clear days Christine would help him move a chair out to the front of the house, so that he could watch her build castles in the sand. Some days Raoul would come and help her, and once he caught a starfish in a bucket for her to play with, until she had felt sorry for it and asked him to let it go. Those were the days she was happiest, when she could spend them with the two people she loved best in all the world.

Today was also promising to be exciting, even if she was on her own: It would be the first time since arriving that Christine would get to go into town! Her father couldn't stand the thought of her going without him, but there was little real choice- so with a strict lecture to find Stephan to escort her he tied a few francs into her pocket handkerchief and sent her on her way.

Christine _had _been much better behaved this time, really. As much as she disliked Stephan, she didn't want to let her papa down...so she had walked all the way to Stephan's house with its little fish market attached and peered through the lattice gate. Satisfied that she had not seen him -and therefore that he was not at home and nothing could be done about it- she had continued on her way until she reached the crossroads, and was now staring up at the painted wooden signs, perplexed.

It wasn't that she couldn't read; she had mastered the alphabet and could read most of the children's books her father ordered for her: It was that she couldn't yet read _French_. So, after a brief debate, Christine decided to continue straight along the way she was headed. The path was prettier that way, with more sunshine and flowers, and if she kept heading straight it would be harder to get lost. Besides, why should she be afraid when she had the Angel of Music protecting her?

Singing softly to herself, Christine continued along her path, her voice growing as she picked up confidence and childish enthusiasm. This was most probably why when someone behind her started calling her name they were almost upon her before she heard it. Wondering guiltily if her father had sent someone after her, she turned around slowly with her head down, only to have them lift it back up again with their fingertips.

"Silly little Lottie, you're going the wrong way. It's a good thing you have me here to look out for you, you know."

"Raoul!" She cried, standing on tiptoe to hug him about the waist. "You found me!" A moment later her delight had faded back into feeling guilty. "You weren't sent by papa, were you?" She asked anxiously, biting her lip. "No," said Raoul gently "I was leaving town with my brother when I saw you on the road. We passed right by each other! But why are you worried about your father? Christine, you've gone out on your own again when you're not supposed to, haven't you?"

Her embarrassed silence was answer enough and Raoul sighed, taking her shoulders in his hands and kneeling down to look straight into her large doe-eyes. "Christine, enough of that! You'll worry me into an early grave. Next time, just...listen, if you need to go somewhere, from now on you come find me and _I'll _take you, understand?" Christine nodded, visibly chastened, and Raoul straightened up. "Good, that's my girl. Now, where exactly are you trying to go?"

"To Le Havre." Said Christine, brightening at the name of the town. "I need a new pair of shoes. Papa says these are too worn." Raoul glanced down. While Christine was increasingly playing barefoot in the sand as the weather started to warm, it was true that the ones she had were fraying beyond repair, and the heel of one had become lost long ago. He nodded and took her little hand in his. "Well then dear one, shall we continue? And while we walk, you can start telling me all of the stories which your father has told you now that he's getting better.

Eagerly Christine complied, pulling at him to walk faster and talking animatedly about mermaids and fairies and above all the Angel of Music. If at any point the young Raoul regretted letting the child ramble on about so many things, never once did his attentiveness or smiling face suggest it.

* * *

Slowly the road before them widened and became more even, and they could see smoke curling lazily from brick chimneys, drifting towards the harbor and out to sea. A few minutes later they had reached the top of a small knoll, and at the bottom of its winding path lay the first few buildings of town. Almost beside herself now, Christine was fighting to not simply grab Raoul with both hands and drag him down the hillside; Raoul laughed as he watched her struggle to contain her excitement. It was remarkably contagious -he hadn't been half this interested when he had gone with Philippe- and it wasn't long before he had given in to her and was moving as briskly down the hill as polite society would allow.

Once they had reached the paving stones which marked the boundary, Christine stopped to stare in wide-eyed wonder at the people and things around them. Cities twice as large as this one were familiar to her, yet somehow the simplicity and old world attention to simple detail (demolished and built over in larger cities) was enchanting to her young mind.

Raoul indulged her in this, allowing himself to be dragged from storefront to peddler and back again, insisting only that he be the one to walk on the side closest to the street. Once her curiosity had led them to Rue Des Preles however, he stopped and told her to pause. Reluctantly Christine complied, looking up at him, her eyes dancing with impatience and excitement. He loved to see her like this; so joyful and, and _alive_. If only he could find a way to keep her like this, and not staring after her father with pained and desperate eyes. For her to always be pulling at his hand, eagerly pursuing what was just around the next corner. It didn't matter if the days were mundane or simple, because Christine found delight in everything; even the ugliest weeds were fondly admired, instead of torn out and crushed like they were in his family's garden. To have her with him now, and smiling like this over something he took for granted (something he didn't even like) made the trip to town almost precious. He would give anything to see this light remain in her eyes; for it to not fade in sadness with the passage of time.

"This is the street that has your shoe shop Christine." He told her. "I think it would be wise to go there now, before we search the rest of the town, don't you?" Wistfully Christine looked past him; the bright colours of the flower shop on the corner had caught her eye, but she nodded.

"Afterwards though, may we go over there?" She asked, pointing to the bright baskets of tulips and daisies stacked on the curb. Raoul followed her gaze and chuckled. "Alright little Lottie, as you wish, but shoes first. And we really shouldn't stay much longer I'm afraid- your papa will scold you. Now then dear one, come this way and I'll lead you to the finest shoe shop in town." Seeing her little face blanche with wonder he hastily added, "Actually, it's the only shoe shop in town."

The modest storefront was identical to its neighbors up and down the street, with a polished wooden sign hanging over the door which swung gently in the ocean breeze, declaring 'Magasin de Chaussure' in black paint. Glass diamonds in the window panes showcased the latest styles; men's on one side and women's on the other. Outside, a sleepy looking pitbull was tethered, eyeing prospective customers warily under his droopy brow. Christine gasped in delight and attempted to pet the 'sweet doggy,' but Raoul kept a firm grasp on her hand and reminded her that if they stopped, she wouldn't have as much time with the flowers. She could pet the dog later. (Much, much later. When it didn't look so grumpy. Or so mean. Or when it had turned into a nice, harmless poodle or something.)

He reached over Christine's head for the door and ushered her inside, the tinkling bell alerting the shopkeeper to their presence. He was a tall, lanky man with dust coloured hair, and it took him longer than it should to straighten his back from where he was arranging things on a low shelf; however he smiled politely to greet them, dull grey eyes brightening a bit when he recognized Raoul. (Or more appropriately, when he recognized money.)

"Ah! You must be the De Chagny's youngest...a pleasure dear boy, an absolute pleasure. The whole town is buzzing with the rumor of your mother's summer party! Secrets don't keep very well in these parts I'm afraid. Still, who could blame the woman for wanting to cause a little more excitement in these dull parts so far from Paris' lights, hmm? Now then lad, what will it be for you? I've got some lovely Italian leather that I've been saving for a special customer such as yourself. If you'll wait here just a moment my boy, I'll go fetch it for you."

"That's alright, there's no need." Said Raoul lightly, stopping the over-eager entrepreneur in his tracks. "I'm not here for myself today, but for the little mademoiselle." Christine, not knowing how else to react over her presentation, curtsied, which caused Raoul to grin. The shop owner looked perplexed. "You must be a very benevolent master, to bring the child all the way to town. Is she the daughter of one of your servant girls?"

Next to her, Christine could feel Raoul stiffen, although she wasn't sure why. "She's nothing of the sort." He said, with a polite smile which didn't match his clipped tone of voice. "She is the daughter of a friend who has taken ill. I am simply taking his place today. Now then Christine," he continued, not giving the man a chance to apologize for his slight, "why don't you look around and find something you like?"

Flustered, the proprietor left them to wander the shelves unescorted. Vaguely, Raoul wondered at the absurdity of so many shoes, even in such a small shop- surely no one would buy them all! Men's shoes all looked roughly the same, and while he preferred his to be more fashionably narrowed, it was nothing compared to the insanity of choices available for women here: white leather, black leather, red leather, brown; laces, buckles, or buttons; heal, no heel, some heel; rabbit fur, fox fur, snake skin; slipper, ankle, mid-calf (he blushed slightly at the thought of a woman's calf, but pushed it aside); bows, embroidery, or beads; silk, satin, or suede... it was enough to make a teenage boy run for the door. Still, he bravely stood his ground, and when Christine gasped quietly a moment later he made his way over to her, with a shred of genuine curiosity over what she had found.

Sitting there in a box just at her eye-level was a lovely pair of shiny, black leather ankle boots, with a row of buttons on the front and a little satin bow at the top of one side. Raoul was relieved by the tastefulness of it, but Christine seemed enchanted by the shoes, tracing the arc of one with a delicate finger. Raoul smiled down at her and placed a hand on top of her curly head.

"Well then little Lottie? Shall we purchase them and be on our way?" Slowly, sadly, Christine shook her head. Raoul frowned. "Why not?" He asked, perplexed. Silently she pointed at the neatly written price tag of francs just below the box, before she sprinted away lightly to the front of the store, rummaging for something she had seen earlier. She emerged after a moment with a very nondescript pair of brown lace-up shoes; of the sort which the factory girls wore to work in Paris- inexpensive and disappointingly sensible.

"These please monsieur." She said shyly to the shop keep, and carefully counted out the correct amount of francs from her handkerchief. The two francs which remained were retied with the same amount of care, and tucked into her sash so that her hand was free to carry the parcel which contained her new purchase. With her other hand she reached for Raoul's, and smiled at him as she drug him impatiently towards the door.

"And now the flower shop!" She reminded him, pulling at his hand as though to make him move faster. "You promised!" Still, Raoul did not miss the last furtive look she gave to the elegant pair of little girl's boots before they exited onto the street.

Raoul picked the parcel up from her hands and tucked it under his arm. "Let me take it from you," he said before she could protest "it's my duty as a gentleman."

"What's a gentleman?"

For a moment her question stopped him short, and he laughed. "You know, I'm not quite sure. It's hard to define really. I think...I think it's a man who puts someone else's comfort and wants before his own. Does that make sense, Christine?"

Her little brow furrowed as she thought. "I think so." She said in a way which stated rather plainly that she didn't quite get it. Raoul grinned and squeezed her hand affectionately. "It's alright little Lottie, you'll be able to tell the difference when you're older. Here we are now: Your flower shop. They are beautiful, aren't they?"

A woman with a lace cap over peach coloured locks greeted them at the front of her open air stall, curtseying. "Bonjour monsieur. Anything in particular you are looking for today? The roses are fresh from Provence. They arrived by train this morning."

"No thank you madame. The colours simply caught the child's eye. Christine," he said, turning to her. "I've just remembered something. My mother placed an order for a new pair of shoes a week ago. If they have come in and I get them for her, it will save her the trip. While we're at it, I've changed my mind; would you stay here for me and choose something nice for Clara? I'll only be gone a minute." Christine bit her lip and looked back the way they had come: She could see the door of the shoe shop from where she stood.

"You want to get some pretty flowers for Clara?" she repeated, fingering the velvety petals of a violet. "That's right." Said Raoul, smiling. "Don't you think it will be a nice surprise for her? _'And I'll leave them in her room without a note_,' he thought triumphantly, _'and have an entire week free of her prying while she tries to discover where they came from_!' Nodding at the store's mistress he jogged back towards the shoe shop, glancing once over his shoulder to ascertain that Christine was, in fact, completely distracted by the blooms and not about to wander off somewhere else.

For a moment or two Christine admired the woven baskets and water-filled vases of flowers silently, marveling over the grace of the tulip and the elegance of the lily. When her attention turned towards the roses however, the shop keeper spoke to her.

"Do you like roses petite fille?" Christine blushed at being addressed, but nodded vigorously. "They are...so very pretty." She said, much more aware of her foreign accent when she spoke to a stranger than when she spoke with Raoul or her father in French. "I wish I am... _was_ as pretty as them." The flower keeper hid a laugh behind her hand. "You will be ma chere, I see it already. Which ones do you like best? The red ones?"

Christine looked at the blood red rose which was being offered to her and took a tiny step back. It was so...intense. It almost frightened her. The woman laughed again, this time not bothering to conceal it. "Not that one then." She said, tucking it back into its vase. "The young man your with, is he your cousin? Which ones does he like?"

"I'm partial to white roses myself." Answered Raoul, coming up from behind with Christine's box. "They didn't have them yet," he explained to Christine, who was looking at his otherwise empty hands, "which is a shame because my mother doesn't enjoy traveling. I think that's why we're staying at the sea-side house as long as we are. Well Christine? Have you chosen something for Clara?"

"Oh, yes!" She said hastily, although she had actually forgotten. There were just so many...grabbing the nearest bunch, she held it up for him to see. Amused, Raoul took them from her. "Daisies. Simple, yet cheerful. Thank you Christine, they're perfect."

He was about to pay the woman for her flowers, when a little hand tugging on his sleeve made him pause. Christine beckoned him closer, and he bent down so she could whisper in his ear, "Raoul, could I have a rose too? A pink one!"

Raoul smiled sadly and tugged at one of her curls, and affectionate gesture he had adopted. "I'm sorry little Lottie, but not this time. Your father is going to think I spoil you." _Which I do_, he groaned inwardly. He gave the woman her francs (while she pretended to not be disappointed that they had bought the least expensive flowers in her shop) and waited for Christine to take his hand.

She did, but she hesitated, and the look on her face was sullen as she did so. She didn't say anything as they left the shop and made their way up the street, or even when they had left town and had made it to the end of the paved roadway. After a few more minutes of silence, Raoul finally gave in. "Please don't be cross little Lottie. I'm sure one day you'll meet a wonderful man who will buy you as many roses as you could possibly wish for!"

"But I wanted one from _you_." She sniffed, shaking her head to hide her face behind her curls.Sighing, Raoul put down the shoes and the flowers and wrapped his arms around Christine's waist, hoisting her up into the air as she gasped. When they were at eye level he smiled and rested his forehead against her's lightly. "For your birthday, I'll buy you a dozen. Now will you be cheerful again? It will be an awfully dull walk otherwise."

She reached out and pulled gently on Raoul's queue in return. "Promise?"

"Promise. Now I'm going to have to put you down little Lottie...you're really too big for me to carry like this."

She nodded and he lowered her until her feet had hit the ground, and then gathered up the shoes and the flowers, holding out the bouquet for Christine to carry back. This time at least, the sun was behind them as they walked.

* * *

Raoul was pleased with himself as they approached the Daae cottage: Even by letting Christine stop to rest, the sun was only just starting to set. The poor girl was yawning when they reached the door, which prompted him to wonder if it would be worth it to borrow the hated carriage next time (he assumed there would be a next time). Or even better, to bring his horse Saule out of the stables for a ride. He wondered how comfortable Christine would be if she were up so high?

Reaching the door, he juggled the box and Christine's hand so could knock. Surprisingly, it didn't take that long to get a response. The 'thunk' of something heavy being placed on a table, shuffling footsteps, and M. Daae was at the door; smiling at first, then apparently becoming confused to see someone other than he had expected. "Raoul...and here I thought that you would be Stephan...silly of me at this point, I know. Well, you might as well come in and sit down for a bit. Would you like some tea? Or do your parents let you take brandy?"

"I'm fine, thank you Monsieur. But, where would you like these?" He asked, holding up the packaged shoes.

"Ah. Let Christine take them to put in her room. Here you are my dear...did you have anything left over?"

"Yes papa, here it is." She handed him the handkerchief and took the box, running up the stairs as fast as she could- which considering how high and narrow they were compared to her height, wasn't very.

"So should I assume that Christine went to your home and asked you to come along?" Asked M. Daae, walking back towards the kitchen table.

"Not exactly." Admitted Raoul, following him and taking a seat. There was a comfortable truce between the two men now; not quite friends, but something akin to allies. "We passed each other in the road. I have told her that from now on she needs to let me escort her, if you are unavailable...I hope you will pardon the presumption."

M. Daae sighed. "It would be lying to say I wouldn't be more comfortable with someone who has a few more years of experience in the world; however you have always returned Christine safely, for which I am grateful. And there is no denying the fact that Christine is extremely fond of you. If that will keep her from wandering on her own, then so much the better."

Raoul nodded, starting absentmindedly into the fire. "I hope so. It worries me; she's so trusting, if someone were to take advantage of her innocence...I'd never forgive them."

"For that matter Raoul, I wonder about you as well." Said M. Daae, sitting across from the boy with his nightly cup of tea and brandy (which eased his throat enough to let him sleep at night.) "No need to get defensive, but you're strangely attentive to my daughter for a boy your age. I would think that you would have other, more interesting pursuits. Hunting and fishing perhaps, or boxing with other lads? Or maybe escorting some of the pretty girls in town to a dance?"

Raoul blushed, which made M. Daae chuckle; a mistake, because it started him coughing. Raoul waited politely, pretending to be absorbed in the flickering flames until M. Daae had collected himself. Then he answered, thinking it over carefully.

"It's really not that strange to me...I hope not. I'm the youngest in my family by many years. My sisters were married not long after I was born, and my brother was already concerned with the management of the estate. I had toys and games, but no one to share them with. It was...very lonely. So when I saw Christine so forlorn on the beach, looking like she had been crying...I only wanted to make her smile."

Realizing how sentimental he sounded, he blushed furiously again and cast his mind to search for a different topic. It was then that he noticed the case sitting open by the table. "Your violin? Have you been practicing?"

M. Daae's eyes were sparkling in amusement, but he let Raoul salvage his masculine pride and turned to the new topic as well. "I've been trying to. This numbness in my fingers makes it difficult, but what is life without music? 'Music,' as they say, 'washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.' With patience and the Lord's blessing I'll be able to play again soon."

Raoul nodded in sympathy before the pit-pat of little feet on the stairs alerted them to Christine's presence. She was barefoot now, and danced towards them lightly. "Papa, can we have supper now? And can Raoul stay?"

"I'm sorry Christine, but I really ought to be going home myself." Said Raoul hastily, before M. Daae was placed in an awkward social predicament. "But I'll come to play again in a day or two, alright?"

Christine pouted, but nodded before climbing up in her father's lap and clasping her little hands around his neck. "Is that alright papa? May I go out later to play?" M. Daae kissed his child on her brow, shaking slightly as he suppressed another coughing fit.

"This is your way of getting what you want is it, bestowing affection on this poor old man? Well, I don't see why you can't go out another day anyway, so yes, you may. Raoul, there's a spare lantern in the cabinet by the door. Why don't you use it and bring it back next time?"

Raoul tipped his hat to the violinist. "Thank you very much Monsieur, you're very kind. Sweet dreams little Lottie, I'll see you again soon." He took the lantern and lit it, bracing himself for the indignant fury he would face at home for his earlier offense. He smiled at them both and Christine waved; then he shut the cottage door tightly behind him.

M. Daae watched the lantern light grow smaller outside the window and sighed. 'Lottie' was _his _name for Christine, yet it seemed to come to the young viscount so easily! And Christine had taken to him like a lamb takes to spring- with natural joy. Still, he was well aware that his possessiveness would do Christine no good when he passed. Oh yes, he know that this was only a temporary recovery, that more than likely he would see his wife and his Blessed Maker before the year was out. Soon, after her birthday (he couldn't bear to do it before then), he would start making plans for Christine's future. When that happened, it wouldn't be such a bad thing for her to have someone she loved and trusted nearby to offer what comfort he could. For now though, those thoughts could wait.

He turned to the worn-out little bundle in his lap. "Christine?" He asked in Swedish. "You weren't eavesdropping at the top of the stairs while M. de Chagny and I were speaking, were you?"

Her dark eyes grew wide at the suggestion. "No papa, I wasn't! I wouldn't do that! What's eavesdropping?"

M. Daae sighed and shifted Christine to his other knee. "It means listening when two people are talking about something private; something you're not supposed to hear."

"Oh, that. It's not my fault, you and Raoul talk too fast in French Papa, I can't understand you!"

"Hmm, I see...well then little Lottie, time for some stew, and then bed. I have a mind to walk along the garden path tomorrow, if you'll come with me."

The hopeful smile which Christine gave her father over his improved health should have raised his spirits; instead he had to resist the urge to hold her tight and weep.

* * *

In the morning, after a light breakfast of tea and toast, M. Daae sent his daughter upstairs to put on her shoes and cape while he cleared the table. The resounding scream which shattered the silence a moment later caused him to drop the ceramic mug he had been cleaning with a clatter. It was chipped, but M. Daae was already halfway up the stairs, his anxiety over his daughter's safety spurring him with reserve energy.

When he reached her little room however, instead of the broken glass or tears that he feared he was greeted with the image of Christine on her bed, brown parcel paper torn and discarded on the floor as she gazed in wonder at the beautiful black ankle boots before her. It wasn't long before she noticed her father staring at her in shock from the doorway.

"Oh papa, papa look! Aren't they wonderful? I'll look just like the girls from Paris with these! I wanted these at the store yesterday, but they were too many francs...Papa, do you think it's a gift from the angel? Oh papa, you're so pale! What's wrong?"

M. Daae leaned against the door, gasping, as his daughter held the precious shoes to her chest. "No Christine," he said finally, "I suspect that those are from a very human young man."

* * *

**A/N: YAY!! I'm back! I'm very sorry that it took so long everyone, however (if I haven't said this before) I update each of my three continuing stories in turn...so sorry for the wait! (Not to mention, I did a random little Dark Knight oneshot which just wouldn't leave me in piece till it was up.) However, you can always check my profile: I update on a regular basis, letting everyone know how a particular chapter is progressing, and about how much longer till it will be up :) While you're there, please answer my poll! I just wanted to know people's opinions about OC's...so please take a moment to head on over and vote for me! **

**By the way, I finally decided to have Christine be brown eyed like she is in the modern versions, instead of blue-eyed like the book...I know this might annoy some people, and I'm sorry, but I wanted her to appear very sweet and delicate in her own slightly spunky way...and 'doe-eyed' just portrays that so well for me. Finally, if anyone thinks childhood Christine is more outgoing than her teenage counterpart, that's slightly on purpose. Obviously, her father's death will take a HUGE toll on her...I want there to be a noticeable difference in the way the two Christine's act, with some similarities. I hope that this doesn't depress anyone...please be happy with the chapter! **

**M. Daae's music quote comes from Berthold Auerbach :) And if anyone is wondering what Raoul said to Philippe at the start of the chapter, basically Raoul just called him a 'lover of loose women'...only not so nice. :P For those of you not familiar with the book (and therefore with the character of Philippe) there is some bitter irony in Raoul's belief that Philippe shall remain 'in perfect health'... **

**All reviewers shall receive either horseback riding lessons from the viscount, or violin lessons from M. Daae, their choice :) (I tried to ask Erik for singing lessons, but he punjab'd me O.o) **


	4. Dolls

**Disclaimer: As soon as I own this, I will let you all know =p**

**A/N: Huzzah! A post at last! See, my stories aren't forgotten, just terribly slow to update u.u I do apologize for this, I really do. On the positive note, one of my other fanfics only has an epilogue left, and therefore my attention will no longer be split between so many projects, lol. Anyways, I wanted to thank you all for reading my humble little tale of 'childhood sweethearts'. Please enjoy it, and may it bring you warm fuzzies and sunshine to your darkest nights!**

* * *

Eagerly Christine pressed her little nose up against the cottage window, leaving smudges. She had been doing this on and off for an hour now, impatient as children often are, much to the amused frustration of her father. "Lottie, move away from the window, you're fogging it up. He'll come when he comes, and you keeping watch won't hurry him up at all, I'm sad to say." Pouting slightly, Christine moved to where her father sat and half-flopped onto the settee next to him, which caused him in turn to sigh and pull her upright, so she was sitting straight. "Really dear we must work on your manners...what would your dear mother say if she could see you now?" Naturally Christine didn't answer that, too heavily focused on the current theme of her thoughts. "But he promised! He said he'd bring them…." "And I'm sure he shall. Now go on and fetch your tablet Christine, and let's go over your French some more." She looked up at him, slightly aghast. "Now?! But papa, it's my birthday! You're not really going to make me study on my _birthday_, are you?" M. Daae gave her a sympathetic, yet firm look. "It is for the best. You may be living here for many years Christine, so I want your reading to improve." _While I can still teach you myself._...He shook his head, dispelling the thought from his mind. "No arguments, little one. Go on, and we shall stop for the day when your friend is here." Sighing, Christine stood and did as she was told, spending the next twenty minutes in anxious anticipation, hardly able to concentrate on her father's words as she listened for any tell-tale signs of Raoul's approach.

Finally, just when M. Daae was thinking that it was absolute folly to keep her for any longer, the distant sound of a horse's trot could be heard with increasing distinction. With a little cry Christine leapt to her feet and dashed to the door, knocking her tablet and stylus over, and M. Daae did not even try to stop her. There was a certain sadness to his eye, but happiness too, in the idea that she was so well-comforted while he could do so little to care for her as he ought. For a moment Christine struggled to open the door, her little hands pulling at the handle, and then it came unstuck to reveal the pretty picture of a young man alone on his horse, save for the dozen bright blooms tucked carefully into the crook of his arm.

"Raoul, Raoul, you remembered your promise!" Laughing gleefully Christine ran out to meet him, yet kept close to the door to avoid the horse's hooves, so much larger than her own little feet. Grinning at her Raoul dismounted (having to jump an extra foot or so, until he was full grown) before he kneeled down and presented her with the much awaited bouquet. "Of course I remembered Lottie...a gentleman always keeps his word. Happy birthday." She giggled, her innocent blush nearly the same hue as the pink roses she now held in her arms, before she spun around and held them up for her papa to see. "Papa, papa look! Flowers!" M. Daae smiled warmly at his little girl, seeing in her sweet face a great beauty which only time would reveal, as lovely and renowned as her mother's had been. "Delightful, my dear. I dare say that it is only the first of many that you shall receive, when you have suitors lined up outside your door." Raoul looked concerned, not liking the sudden realization that one day someone might come and take his playmate away from him; Christine was just confused. "What's a suitor?" Chuckling, her father placed a hand on top of her curls. "Never you mind, you'll see. Now come back inside and let's put those in water...and papa has his own present for you, you know."

Beaming, Christine started to hurry inside the house before she turned and grasped Raoul's hand, pulling him along behind her. "You got me a present, papa?" M. Daae nodded, moving slowly towards the kitchen and finding an old milk pitcher to serve as a vase. "Christine, take this out to the pump and fill it for your roses, would you?" She nodded and took it from him, hugging the pitcher to her as she left. M. Daae waited until she was gone before he moved to one of the taller cabinets, opening it and pulling out a small, rectangular object tied with brown paper. "So Raoul, how is your family? I believe I saw your mother last week, walking near the shore."

Raoul nodded, taking the liberty of pulling out one of the wooden chairs and seating himself...the Daae's did not stand on ceremony the way his own family did. "Yes, 'for her health.' Although really I doubt she takes much benefit from it, since she must be cajoled and pleaded by her maids, and makes a hasty retreat as soon as feels a hint of mist. My mother always preferred to discuss the merits of nature, rather than experience them herself. I do hope though sir, that the sea air has continued to do you good." He added hastily. M. Daae sighed.

"Yes...yes it is. For now." Raoul frowned at the implication. "Do you not think your recovery is permanent, sir?" For a moment M. Daae regarded the lad, not as a neighboring boy who came to play, but as a young man who cared for his daughter. Someone who might have a vested interest in caring for her, and one day could possibly even see that her future was secure. Did he tell the boy the truth, that deep in his soul he knew he was soon to abandon the child in a foreign land, with few friends and fewer prospects? Could he put that sort of weight on a boy so young he still had no need for a straight-edge? No, he could not.

"With God's grace, it will be permanent." It was obvious that Raoul was not entirely satisfied by this answer, but at that moment Christine returned with her heavy burden and he hurried to take it from her, setting it down on the weathered but clean wooden table as M. Daae arranged the roses. They added a cheeriness to the room which he himself struggled to feel as Christine wrapped her arms around his waist, looking up at him expectantly. "Papa, where's my present?" Smiling for her sake he produced the small wrapped package, he and Raoul watching on as Christine revealed the elegant cloth doll inside. She was simple but beautifully constructed, with a delicately painted face and a bit of black horse's mane for hair. Tenderly Christine stroked the doll's blue flowered gown, her face an expression of reverenced awe, and in that gesture Raoul saw more care and affection then he had ever held for any of his expensive, store bought toys. "She's charming. What will you call her, Christine?" Happily, Christine turned her gaze up to him. "Lucy."

"Lucy?" Raoul looked perplexed, so M. Daae turned to him with a chuckle. "St. Lucile's is Christine's favorite holiday. It's something we celebrate in Sweden, just before Christmas." "Ah." For a little while the two men sat in companionable silence as Christine bonded with her new treasure; one merely happy to be with his family, the other away from his. After a time however M. Daae became very still, his face somewhat pale. "Raoul, perhaps you could take Lottie out to the garden to play, for a while?" Both the children gave concerned and questioning looks, but Raoul at least was old enough to recognize when an adult meant more than they said, yet kept quiet for the child's sake. This worried him, however he stood and reached for Christine's hand, smiling brightly. "Come Lottie, Lucy hasn't even seen the light of day! Let's go and show her the sun, shall we?" Nodding, Christine took the offered hand before following Raoul outside, although she still cast glances over her shoulder as they left.

"Raoul, what's wrong with Papa? He sounded strange." Raoul hesitated- he had his suspicions, and yet hoped very much that they would not be confirmed. "I don't know Lottie...maybe he has something else he wanted to get ready for you. Or maybe he was just tired for a little bit, or wanted to be alone. Adults do that."

"Not my papa." Said Christine stubbornly, refusing to believe that there might be a time when her father would not wish to see her. Anxiously Raoul searched for a means to distract her...unless he was mistaken, there was a very faint sound of violent coughing coming from somewhere in the house. His eyes alighted on the horse he had tethered there, and his face brightened. "Christine, have you ever rode a horse before?" Looking up at him with great wide eyes, Christine shook her head, curls rustling. "No...they're so tall! Isn't it scary?" Smiling, Raoul went and untied the dappled Anglo-Arab, leading him over. "Only a little, at first, but there is nothing in the world finer then being up high and rushing with the wind. Hold tight to me Christine, and you'll see. His name is Clovis...go on, pet him a bit while I check the saddle." She did so, marveling at how grand the animal seemed, and even introducing Lucy to Clovis, and Clovis to Lucy, until Raoul was quite certain that there would be no mishaps with his little charge. He led horse and girl to a boulder left in the dune several yards away and mounted, before having Christine stand on it and then pulling her up behind him after, deciding that he would have to steal one of his mother's side saddles so she could sit properly next time. "Put your arms around my waist Christine so you won't fall. Don't worry, we'll go slowly."

She nodded nervously and wrapped her arms around him, Lucy tucked between them snugly. Raoul waited until it seemed that she had a good grasp before he clicked his tongue and kicked his heels into Clovis' flank, setting them off on a leisurely walk towards the shore. At first Christine was just a bit frightened, but when she saw how gentle the rocking of the horse was she sat up a little more, gazing back at the hoof prints Clovis was leaving in the damp sand with awe. "Raoul, we can go a little faster, if Clovis wants..." The boy smiled to himself, recognizing the shy request hidden in her statement. "I'm sure he'd like that very much. Hold on now." With another little push Clovis picked up speed until he had reached a trot; quite a comfortable pace for him, yet quite a bumpy one for his inexperienced rider. If Christine's giggles were any indication however, she didn't seem to mind very much. Encouraged by this, Raoul let the horse continue to accelerate, sand scattering as they went.

He should have kept things gentle and calm- it was only her first ride after all, and despite the happy thrill she was receiving Christine was young and small and for her pleasure could become fear quite quickly. However Raoul (like most young men his age) wanted to impress, and did not have the sense to stop and think about what may happen. They raced along the shore, Raoul at least restraining Clovis from a full gallop as Christine hid her face from the wind against his back. She was ready to slow down now, the jarring and bucking of the horse was becoming painful, and it was hard to hold on. She didn't know how to tell him this though above the sound of the wind, and was instead reduced to silently praying that it would stop. Unfortunately, Raoul was enjoying himself immensely, and imagining that Christine was as well. When he spied a bit of driftwood then lying in the sand, he thought nothing of leading Clovis towards it. "Hang on Lottie! We're going to jump!" Eyes widening for a moment Christine clutched onto Raoul's coat with a whimper not to be heard through the rush of wind and waves, the shifting of her arms causing her precious cloth doll to slip from its grasp. "Lucy!" Without thought Christine let go of her already tenuous hold as she reached for the doll, sliding from Clovis' back with a scream and falling onto the sand far below.

Raoul twisted in the saddle in time to see her fall, sheer horror washing over him, but it was too late to reach out and grasp her- Clovis was already pushing from the ground with his powerful hind legs, forcing Raoul to face forward again and complete the jump before he reared the animal, bringing him about and making all haste to the tiny still form alone on the sand. His heart was pounding in terror as he reached her, dismounting so fast he nearly fell himself and hardly even noticing, scrambling to her side and slipping in the sand. "Christine! Christine!!" What if she were hurt? What if she were cut and bleeding, or what if....

What if her neck had snapped? What if she was dead?

Swallowing thickly, trying in vain to suppress the panic he felt, Raoul reached the little girl and turned her towards him, praying to high Heaven for a clear sign of life. The Lord answered his prayers. She was crying. "R-Raoul..." She spoke to him in between her sobs, but the poor lad, both relieved and heart-broken, guilt eating at him, couldn't understand a word. "French Christine, French _please_, I'm begging you....are you hurt?" Gently, carefully he looked over her, searching for broken bones or other injuries, but he hardly knew what to look for: he didn't see any blood, but what if she were bleeding from the inside? Any number of things could be wrong, but he was no doctor, he'd never know. Raoul tried to decipher what she was saying, but Christine was so shaken the foreign words came to her with difficulty.

"So...scared. R-Raoul, no more r-riding, please? No more riding." He swallowed again and nodded, moving hair and sand away from her face. "No more riding. Next time we go somewhere far away, I'll bring a carriage. And if one day we _do_ ride somewhere together on a horse again, then I will have you sit in front of me, and I'll hold you, so you don't fall. Alright, little Lottie? Is that alright? Are you hurt?" Trembling weakly Christine shook her head before reaching out and wrapping her small arms around his neck, wanting to be comforted. Raoul gathered her and the doll in his arms and picked both up, struggling a little with the weight but refusing to make her walk after such a scare, and certainly not about to try and reconcile her to Clovis. He moved slowly through the sand, walking where the waves lapped at his feet to make it easier, Clovis following his master with the confused air of an animal intelligent enough to know that something was amiss, but not clever enough to know what.

It took them some time to reach the cottage at this pace, and with every step an air of impending doom hung thicker over Raoul's head. It seemed (Holy Mother of God let it be so) Christine was not actually injured...but that wouldn't stop her father from being furious with him. After all, were Raoul a father (a very odd thought, but it was true nonetheless) and some stupid boy put _his_ daughter in danger, he'd be tempted to have the fool flogged. Anything M. Daae did to him he deserved...but what if he wouldn't let him see Christine again? He couldn't stand it, to not have her sweet smile and innocent affection when all around him were people living in strict regulation and formal rigermoral... it would be as though the sun were permanently covered by clouds or night.

Heart heavy, Raoul finally reached the door of the cottage, calling out to the windows, which were now silent. "M. Daae! M. Daae! Let me in, if you can, please...Christine fell!" There was silence for a moment, interrupted only by Christine's occasional sniffles, and then a sudden scrapping sound before the door was wrenched open from the inside, the ashen faced man on the other side -still weak from his fit- pulling them inside.

"Lay her on the couch...what happened?" Raoul did so, his arms aching terribly and his stomach fluttering in anticipatory dread, but Christine spoke first, her Swedish punctuated with sobs- "Pappa! Som jag föll från hästen!" M. Daae's eyes widened. "Hästen?" He turned to face Raoul, and for a moment the boy hung his head in shame. But no, he was a Chagney, and a gentleman besides. He would take this like a man. Steeling himself he raised his head to await his sentence, heart hammering, prepared to be struck, or worse, banished. For a long agonizing moment M. Daae watched him as he sat on the couch by Christine, who was calming down now that she was in her father's arms. Finally, he spoke: "Am I right in assuming Raoul, that you took her for a ride on your horse?"

Raoul swallowed and nodded; guilt, shame, and worry etched on the youthful face. "Oui monsieur...I am sorry sir, I was so sure that she would enjoy herself, and that it would be alright..." M. Daae nodded before turning to look over Christine as Raoul had done earlier. She had some small scrapes on her hands, and most probably her knees too, but really was more scared than anything else. He sighed, voice soft. "There are truly some accidents which cannot be prevented. But Raoul, more often than not, they can be. Do not forget it. Do not let tragedy strike because you did not think things through." Raoul nodded again, the words echoing in his mind, jumping when there was a sudden knock at the door. He turned to it uncertainly, but M. Daae shook his head and stood, moving towards it. "Sit with Christine, Raoul...I shall see to the visitor."

Hardly daring to believe that nothing worse was to come, the chastened boy moved and took M. Daae's place at Christine's side, taking her hand and holding it gently. Christine sniffled and reached up to place her other hand on his cheek. "Raoul, you're upset...are you mad at me?" Aghast, he shook his head vehemently, wondering how she had come to such a conclusion. 'No, Lottie no, not at all...I'm angry with myself. I could have hurt you." Christine swallowed and smiled bravely. "Don't be mad, it was my fault, I let go...and besides, next time I won't fall because you'll hold me, remember?" Raoul grinned weakly and nodded. "Yes Lottie, I remember."

The children turned their heads as M. Daae re-entered the room, an envelope in his grasp. "Raoul, your man-servant is here, apparently your mother requests your presence at home...please send her our regards." The lad nodded, heart-heavy once more at the dismissal, still scared that it would be his last time in the small house. "Of course monsieur, I will let her know." He sighed and then smiled, resting one hand on Christine's head before kissing her temple. "Happy birthday, little Lottie...I hope you feel better soon." She watched with large, sorry eyes as Raoul gathered his gloves and headed towards the door, pausing when M. Daae called his name. "Raoul? I do hope you'll come by in a day or two. I'm quite certain Christine will be feeling better by then and will be anxious to see you." Startled, the boy blinked a few times before a wide grin spread over his face. "Oui, monsieur...of course. I shall return in a few days. Good night." Cheered immensely he exited, not even Bernard's stern face able to dampen the euphoria he felt at being forgiven. He would not fail to protect her again.

Christine watched him go sadly, yet she too was comforted with the knowledge that he would not be away for long. Curled up on the couch she tilted her face back to her father, regarding the bit of fine paper he held and its elegant calligraphy with some curiosity. "Papa? What's that?"

"This? Just a note which was delivered to me Christine, do not fret about it now." So saying, he dropped the paper on the table and went to sit next to her again, smiling. There it would sit for the rest of the evening, until M. Daae had decided what he wished to do about it-

An invitation to Mme. Chagney's Garden Party.

* * *

**A/N: Yay! That's all for now, boys and girls…I do very much hope you enjoyed it. I wonder whatever happened to poor Lucy…perhaps she was lost over the years, as beloved childhood toys often are. I also hope that you catch many (if not all) of the references made to both book and movie within this story; Raoul seems to have an excellent memory. Well, if you enjoyed it, then please review!! It only takes a minute, and you may win a two-night stay at the Chagney seaside house besides (if I can ever find the place.)**

**A tout a l'heure!**


End file.
